Borrowed Heat part 5

The chair’s office smelled like old paper and the cheap coffee that always sat too long on the burner. I sat across from her with my spine straight and my hands folded in my lap while the memory of Ellis still buried inside me the night before sat like a second pulse under my skin.

“There’s been a concern raised,” she said, glancing at a note on her desk. “About the amount of time one of your advanced students has been spending in your office after hours. Ellis Hart.”

My face stayed neutral. Inside, everything went cold and sharp.

“He’s revising a long piece,” I answered. “The work requires extended discussion. I’ve kept the door open whenever possible.”

She studied me for a moment longer than was comfortable. “See that it stays that way. Perception matters, Mara. You’re new to the faculty, the last thing any of us needs is a complication.”

I left with the warning sitting heavy in my chest. By the time I reached my office the sharp edges of fear had already started cutting into the want I still carried. I texted him before I could talk myself out of it.

*We need to talk. My place tonight.*

He arrived at eight with rain still in his hair. I didn’t let him step fully inside before I spoke.

“This ends now. The chair pulled me in and someone noticed. I will not risk both our careers because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Ellis closed the door quietly behind him anyway and set his bag down. He didn’t argue right away. He just looked at me the way he always did, steady, patient, like he was already reading the fear underneath the command.

“You’re scared,” he said.

“I’m realistic.”

He stepped closer. I held my ground. When his hand rose to my face I caught his wrist before his fingers could touch my cheek.

“Don’t.”

He stopped, but he didn’t pull away. His pulse beat against my fingers, “Mara, Look at me.”

I did. That was my first mistake, the second was not stepping back when he leaned in and kissed me. For three full seconds I let it happen, my mouth opened under his. My free hand fisted in the front of his shirt. Heat flooded low and immediate, the familiar slick gather of want between my legs that had never once listened to reason.

Then I turned my face away and pushed against his chest.

“No.”

The word came out rough. He stayed close enough that I could still feel the warmth of him, close enough that the refusal cost something visible.

He tried again, mouth at the corner of my jaw, one hand sliding to my waist, the solid press of his body offering everything we had already taken in locked offices and against walls. My eyes closed, for a moment I almost let the soft part of me win. I could feel how easy it would be to drag him to the bedroom, to lock the door one more time, to pretend the chair’s warning had never happened.

I stepped back hard enough that his hands fell away.

“I said no.” My voice was steadier this time, even though my pulse was not. “I want you, I won’t pretend I don’t. But I am not going to destroy both of us for it. Semester ends in six weeks. Until then you are my student and nothing else. After that… I don’t know. But right now this is finished.”

Ellis studied me for a moment. The usual quiet certainty was still there

“You’re sure.”

“Yes.”

He nodded once with no further attempt to close the distance. He simply picked up his bag, walked to the door, and paused with his hand on the knob.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you in class,” he said. “I’m still going to push back when the work deserves it. And I’m still going to look at you like I know exactly how you sound when you come.”

“I can live with that,” I said.

He opened the door. Rain misted in from the hallway. For a second I thought he might turn back, might try one last time. He only glanced over his shoulder, and left me standing alone in the quiet apartment with the taste of him still on my mouth and the decision already cooling into something permanent.

I locked the door behind him. Then I sat on the edge of the couch, pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, and let the want sit there unanswered until it slowly began to ease.

Six weeks. I could survive six weeks.

I had to.